Choices
by AirborneGirl
Summary: Alesha has some very difficult choices to make. Luckily, she has a friend who steps up to the plate. But has he bitten off more than he can chew? Will their friendship survive? Matt/Alesha pairing. Rating for situations mentioned.
1. Chapter 1

**Choices**

**A/N**: Hi everyone! Here's my new story. With Matt and Alesha, of course. Hope you like it. Just for the hell of it, I thought I'd start with a nice long opening chapter. Enjoy!

**Spoilers**: Set after episode 1.07 "Alesha".

**Disclaimer**: Not mine. Really. No, really. I checked. Oh well…on with the story…

No! Oh no! Nononono!

This is not true, can't be true, can't possibly be for real.

You must be dreaming. That's it. Just a dream. A freakish nightmare. You've had enough sleepless nights lately to bring you such a deep sleep, you're bound to get creepy dreams. Anytime now, you'll wake up and all you'll have to do is change the sheets and take a nice, refreshing shower.

Just to make sure, you pinch yourself. Hard. And yelp out in pain.

Wide awake after all. Damn it.

Okay. Just breathe. Calm down. It still doesn't have to mean anything. Perhaps the thing was faulty. It happens all the time. You bought a second one, just as a precaution.

Hands shaking, you take the second package and after some wrestling to open it up, you repeat the process, making yourself stop trembling long enough to do so without spilling. Ew.

A few agonizing slow minutes later, praying this next test will belie the outcome of the first one, you tentatively open your eyes to stare at the small stick in your hands.

And groan in defeat as it confirms what its predecessor already tried to tell you.

There's no denying it any longer. No need to desperately ignore all the signs, reason them away, making up excuses for something so glaringly obvious. No matter how many times you don't want it to be true.

Hands still trembling, you pick up the phone and call in sick, claiming a stomach bug has gotten a hold of you. You feel like a fraud when James wishes you well with an almost fatherly care laced in his voice. Before the rest of your meagre courage leaves you altogether, you dial another number and make an appointment with you family physician. You're in luck, someone cancelled their appointment and you can come over in an hour. It's the longest hour of your life, but as you're lying in her gynaecological chair, you wish to be anywhere but here. Chairs like these bring back some very bad memories.

You refuse the glass of water offered to you and insist the assistant stays close, even if your family doctor is of no threat to you in any way.

Dr. Gibson (no relation), a sturdy woman in her mid-fifties, does the usual poking and prodding and some simple blood tests and after getting the results, again confirms what you dreaded to hear. You're pregnant. Eleven weeks to the day. It helps that you know the exact day you conceived. The only day you could have conceived.

You're having a baby. By the man who raped you.

You start to cry and Dr. Gibson, sensing these are most definitely not happy tears, hands you a box of tissues and sits down next to you. Just because she does not start to ask the difficult questions right away, you trust her enough to tell her the story. True to both her calm nature and her years as a doctor who's seen and heard it all before, she doesn't interrupt even once while you speak and cry and sniff and blubber.

Only when you're done with your little emotional breakdown, does she start telling you about your options, purposefully using a rather businesslike tone of voice to indicate she does not want to influence your decision in any way.

"Okay, basically, there are three options: abortion, keeping the baby or giving it up for adoption. You're just at the start of your tenth week so from a purely medical point of view it's not too late should you choose for the first option. Usually, we can conduct a safe abortion until the 24th week, but we do advise to do it before the twelfth week, so that means you have two weeks to decide.

In your situation, you can make a strong case for a legalized abortion. But it does come with some physical risks and mostly it causes some emotional distress too. But as I said, there's two weeks time to think it through. I can give you some literature to read about it, but if you want to take a piece of friendly advice from me: you might want to consult a friend too. This is not something you want to have to face by yourself."

You nod. Abortion has crossed your mind, to be honest and you're glad you're not too far along should you decide it's the best thing to do. At least now you have some time to think it over. As easy as it sounds, for some reason, the thought of yet another medical procedure to go through makes you hesitant. You're by no means a delicate pushover who's afraid of any pain, but you've just about had your share these days.

And then of course there's the idea you're killing a potential human being. Your possible son or daughter. To think about it as merely a clump of underdeveloped cells makes it sounds like you're having a tumour, which is a point of view you can't easily resign yourself to. You've never really condemned women for their choice for abortion, but that doesn't mean you ever wanted to become one of them. The stigma, the guilt; legal or not, it's all there and frankly, you've had enough labels pasted on your forehead these past weeks to last you a lifetime.

Yet, thinking of it as it a son or daughter makes it harder to distance yourself from what is essentially still a salvageable situation. And how convenient it would be. Once you would get over it, you could basically pull yourself together and pick up where you've left off. Resume your life. As if nothing has happened. You don't even have to tell anyone.

Question is: how long can you pretend? Won't it come back to bite you in the arse one of these days? Or later, much later, when you're more vulnerable? And what if you can't have children later in life, when you've found a good man who would make a perfect daddy? Will you then come to regret not having this child?

Carefully, you get up, accepting a clutch of files and folders and a prescription for pre-natal vitamins, just in case you do want to keep the baby. Plus, they might be helpful against morning sickness which is sure to come while you make up your mind about what to do.

Armed with all this information and the guarantee you can call in at any time, either for an appointment or just to talk, you leave the doctor's office. Outside in the mild breeze, you contemplate going home. You do have the day off after all. But quickly you decide to just go to the office. Sitting at home with nothing else to do but think yourself crazy won't help you now. So office it has to be. You'll make up some excuse later. Besides, it won't be the first time you've called in sick and arrived at work anyway. Neither James nor George will think anything of it.

Hopefully.

You needn't have worried. When you come in, George's door is closed as he is having a conversation with an earnest looking man you don't recognize and James is nowhere to be found. You do find an e-mail in your inbox that states he'll be out of the office for the rest of the day and that you should take it easy, despite of reading the message while you're supposed to be resting at home. You smile. He does know you very well.

Until lunchtime you actually succeed in burying yourself in huge stacks of paperwork. Only when your stomach rumbles, do you realize how hungry you are. And that you're eating for two.

Right, the pregnancy.

The problem that still needs a solution. Though you still have some time to decide, you don't want to wait too long, knowing it won't make things easier, neither the decision nor the procedure itself.

Should you choose the abortion.

Suddenly in need of some fresh air, you take your purse, lock your computer and head for the park, where you buy yourself a coffee and a sandwich, refusing to ponder over the reason you ordered a decaf latte instead of your usual, preferred strong caffeine boost.

Finding an empty bench, you sit down, taking small sips and small bites from your lunch. The weather is beautiful today. Not too warm and with a friendly sun shining. Trying to relax, you take in your surroundings. Being surrounded by the evidence of people at their worst all day, you love to watch people being relaxed and, well, normal you suppose.

Today, something's off though. You've heard pregnant women or those struggling to get pregnant, say it all the time, but you never really believed them. How odd to now be proven wrong. You do see pregnant women or new mothers everywhere when you're hormonal enough to take notice.

A biracial couple walks past, a black woman and a white man. The woman's proudly pushing a pram, the man walking next to her with the air of a stud. You can't help but smile and before you can think it over, you stand and approach them.

"May I take a look?"

As any proud new mum, the woman nods eagerly, awaiting your ooh's and aah's over her offspring.

Actually, the small, sleeping baby girl inside is worth the praise. She is an absolute angel, with soft mocha skin, a full rosebud mouth, lashes a model would kill for and the tiniest of hands clasping the soft pink blanket which is carefully tucked around the small, deeply breathing body. A small pink teddy bear is keeping vigil next to her head.

"She's beautiful."

"She is, isn't she?"

The mother adjusts the blanket, the dad just beams with pride.

"I'm a lucky man with two such pretty ladies in my life."

"She's a perfect blend between the two of you."

The man nods in agreement.

"And she even has my blue eyes. The doctor said it probably won't last, but I secretly hope it will."

"Perhaps my own baby will look like that too."

It's out before you know it. You startle yourself. Not knowing of your inner turmoil, the couple reacts enthusiastically.

"You're pregnant? Congratulations! The father's white too? Oh, you'll get such a pretty baby, I'm sure."

"Not as pretty as our little Tessie here, though. She's one of a kind."

You nod, suddenly unable to get any words formed. As quickly as you can without insulting this lovely couple, you bid them farewell. You turn back to the park bench you just vacated and slump down.

That was a mistake, going over to see that baby. Seeing it feels like it gave your own clump of cells an identity, a face. It's a person now, a small boy or girl with café latte coloured skin and light, European eyes. It's impossible to go ahead and kill it now.

But can you fathom the consequences of doing what seemed unthinkable just this morning? Have this baby? Keep it? Raise it by yourself as a single mum? And never hold the painful circumstances surrounding its birth against it?

True, you know you have enough means to provide for it. Never a big spender, you have a nice sum of money on a separate savings account, plenty to turn the spare bedroom in your flat into a nice, cosy nursery. The CPS offers its employees a full day care service nearby and you're sure your mother won't mind chipping in.

And you have friends. Both male and female, so your child does not have to miss out on father figures, sugar daddies and male role models. You can't think of a better role model than a man like Matt. And Ronnie makes a very respectable substitute grandfather.

You wonder how they'll react when you tell them, though you're sure you'll have their full support no matter what you choose to do.

Though right this very moment, your heart tilts toward keeping it. Thanks to seeing little baby Tessie. But little baby Tessie was planned. By two parents who both love and support her fully. Who never had any doubts about wanting her.

A glance at your watch tells you it's about time you head back to the office, so you chuck your napkin and empty cup in the bin and calmly walk back.

With George firmly planted in his office chair and James away to wherever, you have yourself a quiet afternoon. Even the nausea that triggered the purchase of the pregnancy tests and that's been your constant companion for the last two weeks or so, has subsided. If honest, you feel quite good. Could it be it's still all false alarm? Or is this baby on its best behaviour lest you change your mind about having it?

Either way, you manage to clear away a lot of backed up paperwork and filing, again only noticing it's well past six when your stomach demands some sustenance other than the half eaten candy bar you found in your desk drawer.

Just when you're about to give your best mate a ring to ask him to join you for some dinner, you hear someone knock on the doorpost. You look up and smile. As if you conjured him up out of thin air, Matt Devlin is standing in the doorway, his gorgeous smile firmly in place.

As usual, your heart gives a little jump when you see him. It's a weird thing you have going on with him. You love him deeply, you'll even agree when pushed to it that you're quite besotted with him, but from day one (and, sadly, even more so after the rape), it seemed impossible, improper for the both of you to cross the invisible barrier between friends and more than that.

But a friend he is and you cherish every moment you spend together. Your imagination fills in the blanks for you and though it's not everything you want, it's better than nothing.

"Matt! I was just about to call you."

His grin widens, your heart does a little summersault.

"Really? For a bite to eat I hope."

Your stomach agrees loudly.

"Oh I can use more than a bite."

"Great, let's find ourselves a place that serves something edible."

"And good."

"If we're lucky."

With quick movements, you shut off your computer, put your personal stuff back in your purse and switch off the lights. Matt helps you into your coat and after a wave to George (who distractedly waves back) you set out in the companionable silence typical of your friendship. You just know that your mate knows exactly when's the time to talk and when not.

On instinct, you end up at one of your favourite restaurants a little off centre, away from the noisy tourist attractions. It's small and quaint, but the food's good at a fair price. The waitresses know the both of you well by now and greet you more like friends than regular guests. The decidedly gay bartender tries to catch Matt's eye and us usual, your mate ignores him. He's in no way homophobic. Until they try to hit on him. You tease him mercilessly, though you have no idea what you would do if a lesbian woman would try to make a move on you. So far, it never happened.

And you're not the least bit insulted by that.

For the first time in weeks you actually scan the menu, aware there are some things you normally eat that you shouldn't have now, like their fine selection of cheeses. You try to be casual about it, but when you first decline the cheese and then the wine, Matt's eyebrows raise.

"Something wrong love?"

Again, you attempt to make light of the situation. So you smile.

"It seems such a waste not to try something else for a change."

"True, but I thought you loved these."

"I do, it's just…"

You choke, not knowing exactly how to end the sentence without raising any suspicion. Stupid, hormonal, emotional woman you are, you feel unexpected and very unwanted tears spring in your eyes. Quickly, you snatch up your napkin to dry them off, hoping Matt will be diplomatic enough not to ask the kind of questions you're not willing to answer right now.

Thank God, he doesn't. He merely puts his hand on yours and gives it a little squeeze.

"Never mind my bullying, love. You can have anything you want. Tonight, it's all on me."

"You're just a sucker for crying girls."

"True, but only if I can make them smile."

His own smile is so syrupy sweet it makes you laugh.

"See, it works immediately."

Your food arrives and you eat with a gusto. Never much of a glutton, it surprises your friend how much you suddenly pack away. His eyebrows, first raised in surprised amusement, shoot up and disappear into his hairline when you reach over with your fork to steal bites of his pasta salad. Before you know it, there's nothing left for him.

"Alesha, sweetheart, when I said you could have anything you want, I did mean anything that's on your own plate. How did you get this hungry? Seems almost like you're eating for two."

You immediately choke and it takes lots of petting on the back and an entire carafe of water to settle you down. When you're a little more composed and done with attracting the attention of everybody in the near vicinity of your table, you dare look into your best friend's eyes.

And see that he's put two and two together. The full penny has dropped and he looks at you with sympathy shining through his bright blue eyes.

"Oh Lesh…you're…"

You nod, knowing that really there are no words to say. It's stuck in this eerie twilight zone between 'congratulations' and 'I'm so sorry'.

"Merrick?"

Again, one nod suffices.

He stands, motions for the bill and pays with a few notes carelessly plucked from his wallet, not waiting for any change and not caring if he overdid it on the tip.

"Let's get you home, okay?"

_Next chapter: Decisions, decisions…and a little help from a friend._

_Like? Love? Hate? Mwah? Let me know. I appreciate your opinion._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Sorry it took me so long to update, but here it is. Hope you enjoy it.

**Disclaimer**: Sadly, not mine. Dick Wolf owns them still.

Chapter 2

Wordlessly, you follow him to his car and in stunned silence, he drives you home. He accompanies you to the front door of the building, waiting for you to decide whether or not he can come in any further. As the electric doors spread open, you give him a tentative smile, which he correctly interprets as an invitation. Once inside your flat, he helps you out of your coat. You see his gaze land on your so far perfectly flat stomach, as if imagining how it will look once it's swollen with new life. You don't blame him; it's still so hard to imagine yourself.

"You…eh…want something to drink?"

Anything to stall the inevitable. Part of you desperately wants to talk about this with someone, another part still tries to put your head back in the sand. Perhaps the mundane everyday task of making tea might help you settle.

"Sure, love, but let me get it for us. Tea good for you?"

"Please, Matt, let me do this myself. I need to keep myself busy, even if it's just by getting us a drink. I'm going crazy just lingering around."

"Okay then."

Thanking him with a hint of a smile for not protesting, you put on the kettle and fish out the tea bags, some milk and sugar. With a sigh, you forego on the chocolate digestives you bought yesterday, knowing that if you bite into one, you'll polish off the pack in ten minutes en you'll have to pay the price later as your stomach revolts. Baby or no baby, overeating is not very wise.

Sigh. You're not even aware of its existence for a full day and already everything is about the baby. Unplanned. Conceived out of an act of malice; of dominance.

Unwanted?

The image of Tessie springs to the forefront of your mind, but then again, so does Merrick's. And as sure as you were about keeping it this afternoon, that's how scared about that decision you are now. It must again be your hormones going berserk, just like at the restaurant, but you wish you could just make up your mind and stick to it, damn the consequences.

If only the consequences weren't so life-altering.

Five minutes later, you hand Matt a steaming mug, which, after a careful sip and a wince at its near boiling heat, he puts on your side table to cool down. Not even registering the heat, you drink your own tea with measured sips, trying not to spill anything as your hand shakes. In fact, your whole body is trembling.

He sees, like he always sees everything en with a gentle hand, he calmly plucks the mug from your grasp and sets it down next to his own. Your eyes meet and just like every other body part, your lower lip wobbles precariously. The beginning of a fresh flood of tears prickle in your eyes.

With the sweetest of gestures, your friend, your biggest ally, pulls you next to him on the sofa and into his arms, giving you enough space to either back away or lean in closer. The choice in this case is easy. For once not hitting the breaks on your emotions, you curl into his warmth and let yourself cry yourself completely empty, sheltered from the big bad world outside by his solid body.

He doesn't do anything to shush you except caressing your heaving shoulders, warm hand tangled in your hair. Not one noise comes from his lips, no empty promises of how things will be okay, no soft pleads for you to stop. Nothing, just time and warmth and safety.

He can't make things better, can't makes this situation go away. But he can give you the guarantee you're not totally alone in this. Something you knew all along, but there's no harm in wanting to have some confirmation, nothing wrong in feeling it.

As soon as your waterfall of tears subside to mere sniffles, does Matt loosen his hold on you and you reluctantly sit up a little straighter. When he silently produces a handkerchief and offers it to you, you take it with a watery smile and dry your face as thoroughly as possible.

"Thanks," you whisper, your voice sounding hoarse and croaky.

"Anytime, love."

Silence settles down, but it's not loaded anymore. So you're okay with him asking the questions that must be playing in his mind the moment he figured it out.

"When did you find out?"

"Only this morning. I was feeling sick for a while now, but I didn't want to know."

"So you're what, almost three months along?"

" Eleven weeks, the doctor says. I'll be due early November…if…"

The sentence trails out, not leading to a conclusion.

"Have…have you decided anything yet? About what you want to do?"

You shrug. Not for the first time you realize that, despite of everything that happened to him and his friends in his childhood, your best friend still has his faith. Being Catholic might in this case mean he is prejudiced toward abortion. As a copper, he can't afford his own opinion to cloud his judgment; he needs to be as unbiased as he can be all the time, but this is a private matter and he might not want to get involved with you anymore when you decide to go ahead and lose this baby. And despite of knowing that it's your body and you should be the first and last and basically only one to decide, his opinion, his support, his approval is and always has been paramount to you.

So you choose your words with care.

"I don't know. When I first found out I was sure I wanted to get rid of it, but then…"

You continue to explain to him how you felt after seeing the couple at the park and how it changed your point of view.

"…and yet, even if I keep it, I'm afraid. What if it looks so much like his or her father that I'll start to resent my own kid? What if it starts asking questions I can't answer? What if it has some hereditary disease I don't know anything about? And what about my career? Can I combine it all? Or what about a father figure? Or future relationships? Will I find a man willing to put up with a single mum?"

You let out a shaky breath.

"But then if I go through with the abortion, won't I feel guilty, won't I always wonder what could have been? And what if something goes wrong during the procedure and I can't ever have children again? Or what if I can't even find a partner? And if I do, should I tell him? If I do, he might run, he might be repulsed by my decision. He…"

"Whoa there, love, those are a lot of questions! Let's tackle one problem at the time, okay?"

Again, you shrug. Matt's thumb comes up to gently swipe a stray tear away from your cheek.

"Okay, let's be practical for a moment. First option: keeping the baby. You can afford a baby, financially that is. This flat looks big enough for a nursery and I'll personally help you decorate it. The CPS offers day care, I suppose?"

You nod.

"That takes care of that, and if you ever need a night off, I'm sure you'll find plenty of people willing to take care of your child for a while. As for a father figure: you're surrounded by a whole heap of men who could provide that. And whoever doesn't want you and your child and consider himself the luckiest bloke in the universe doesn't deserve either one of you. Besides, how can this baby be anything but perfect? Its mother's genes easily out trump its sperm donor's."

You remain silent and he gives you a small smile.

"How am I doing so far?"

"So far, so good."

"Good. Second option: abortion. It's a big thing, as irreversible as the first option. It's surgery, and as such, it comes with a health risk. And then there's the emotional risks involved, like you said. But you must know one thing, love: considering everything, nobody could or should even try to blame you if you decide to terminate this pregnancy. What was done to you was a vile act, a serious, nauseating crime and if you don't want to have to be reminded of that day for the next years ahead, than that's perfectly understandable. And if people don't get it, they'll have to answer to me."

"Really? I thought that, because you're Catholic, you might…"

"Hey, I'm Catholic, but I'm not God. It's not my place to judge you in this. It's my place to be the best friend I can be. Besides, if being an unwed mum is considered a sin, and committing abortion's a sin too, that kind of leaves you stuck between a rock and a hard place. That's why I never take any Bible passage literally, without observing the circumstances. So no, I won't pass any judgement no matter what you choose. I'll just be here, should you want me to."

"I do. I need all the friends I can get these next few months. Thanks Matt."

"Anytime, love."

You reach for your mug, but the tea has gone cold. This time, when Matt offers to make you both a fresh cup, you don't argue. Slowly, a dull fatigue settles in your body, taking over the edges of your consciousness…

You never see Matt coming from the kitchen with two fresh mugs of tea. You never see him smile and put them down, before picking you up. Too bad also you don't feel it when he gently carries you in his arms toward your bedroom, where he carefully removes your boots and tucks you in for the night, planting a soft kiss on the top of your head. He lingers for just another moment, looking at your sleeping form, as if he wants to memorize the image forever. A small smile, different from his usual broad grin, tugs at the corners from his mouth. It's a smile which conveys years of unspoken love and more to come. When the time comes, he'll speak. Might even scream it at the top of his lungs for all the world to hear. Then again, when the time comes, he might not need to. You'll hear them either way.

There's a sweet note on the pillow next to yours awaiting you when you wake up the next morning.

Good morning, my dear,

Hope you slept well, you need it.

And remember what I promised you last night:

I'll be there. Whatever you choose to do.

Love, Matt

In the days to come, Matt's as good as gold. The time slot in which you can safely have the abortion, gets more narrow by each day, but your mind's at ease. Nothing is set in stone, there's still some time left, but you've come a long way from your first, panicked 'get it out of me' reaction. And it's all because of him.

He's immediately agreed not to tell anybody else yet. Until you've finally really make up your mind, you don't want to alarm the people you work with. Though, should you keep this child, it will get harder to keep them in the dark when your tummy really starts growing. Overall, you're happy to work with men like George and James. As observant and tenacious as they can be when it comes to work, that's how oblivious they are to the subtle changes in both your body and your behaviour. So far, all stupid excuses for why you stopped drinking coffee or alcohol and why you decline red meat and cheeses have worked like a charm. Though James does give you a small smile when a button of your blouse pops. Your breasts are starting to swell too.

You buy new shirts and blouses that same day. Just a bigger size for now. The maternity ward is still a bridge you're quite reluctant to cross.

Matt's at your side for everything. He calls you at least three times a day, makes sure your pantry and fridge are stocked with good, healthy, nutritious foods and that you're as comfortable as you can be when you come home tired.

Then, Saturday afternoon, the start of your twelfth week, as the two of you are strolling through London's busy shopping streets, you halt in front of a baby store. The nursery furniture in the window is so lovely, sunny and yellow and inviting. An endearing cuddly teddy bear is sitting in the high chair, looking at the world outside with round, plastic eyes and a wide, embroidered smile, it's arms open as if welcoming all future babies to this world.

In a state of shock, you remain glued to the ground, unable to go in, yet unable to move yourself from this unexpected view of the future. Matt, as usual, says nothing. He just takes a stand behind you, patiently waiting for you to snap out of your trance. When you do, his smile tells you he already knows that, just moments ago, you've definitely made up your mind.

"I'm having a baby."

He chuckles, but suddenly turns serious. Slowly, he shakes his head. Alarmed, you freeze again. Until he opens his mouth. What he says is both so profound and so simple, it causes you to choke and bubble up with more hormone filled tears.

"No, love. We're having a baby."

We.

You launch yourself into his arms and he's ready to catch you. All of a sudden, the impossible dream you hadn't dared to mention, not even to yourself, presents itself as a true possibility, though not yet a reality. The dream of not just having a baby, but of having a family. If Matt's clear and simple statement is in fact a promise, your child might actually have a father. Not merely a vague male role model, but someone he or she can call daddy. Perhaps you might not have to tell this child some cocked up story about how it came to be. It'll never have to doubt it is loved and wanted from the get go.

And perhaps…a brother or sister someday?

As if to confirm the enormity of your decision, he gently takes your hand and guides you inside. It's early days to be looking at furniture yet, but you do buy the teddy bear as well as some delightful booties. Almost giddy now, you allow him to pay for it all, before you head out and get some tea.

The last possibility for an abortion comes…and you let it go. You call your family doctor to tell her about your decision, this time accepting her still hesitant well wishes. She refers you to a maternity clinic and you call them to make an appointment for an ultrasound. Matt wriggles his way into a day off without telling anyone the real reason so he can join you.

At the clinic, he holds your hand in the waiting room until your name is being called out. He helps you get up and gather your things, but hesitates at the doorstep of the room, looking at you uncertainly. Yes, he has offered himself up as a surrogate father and he has no regrets whatsoever, but this is a rather intimate procedure and he needs to make sure you want him there. But you do. Like every new mum to be, you want to meet your baby. And you want it to meet both parents.

_Reviews welcome as always. Next chapter will be a bit darker…_


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Okay, okay, I know, I know. But better late than never, right? For those of you with patience, here's chapter 3. Warning: It's a dark one.

Disclaimer: I own the sick mind that comes up with this story. I do not however, own the characters that star in it.

**Chapter 3**

The kind young assistant, who introduced herself as Rhona, helps you settle on the table and instructs you to bare your stomach. The gel she squirts on feels cold and icky and you squeal. She smiles and apologizes for not warning you while she sets up the monitors and grabs the small device she needs to work with. Making small circular movements, she scans your tummy and the first contours of…well…something, appear in the monitor. She remains silent.

Too silent.

And so does your baby. Muttering something unintelligible, Rhona adjusts something on her machinery and tries again. Still, nothing.

Excusing herself, she hurries out and comes back with another doctor, an elderly man who must be very close to his pension. Still, it must mean he's a lot more experienced than the girl helping you before. The doctor, whose nametag says Dr. H. Donahue, doesn't bother with any formal introductions, yet sets out to work.

But even his expertise can't change the outcome you already dreaded.

There is no heartbeat. Your baby is no longer alive.

He's full of sincere apologies for you, as he tries to explain how this could have happened. Or, more accurately, tries to explain how they just don't know. It's tragic, but there are hundreds of small and bigger circumstances or possibilities as to why this baby did not survive.

Like not really wanting it, you think, as the guilt rises inside of you. Has this child felt your initial rejection and decided for itself? Has God heard your first prayer to make it not be true and taken it too seriously? Have you not been careful enough? Eating the right things? Resting enough?

These last questions you dare ask, but Dr. Donahue is quick to deny your own incriminating thoughts. According to him, it's bad luck. Nothing more.

"This very unfortunate situation will most likely result in a natural abortion within the next four days, but if not, we may need to arrange for you to have it removed by curettage. Neither process is comfortable, but the last option might be safer if a spontaneous abortion doesn't happen in that time span. Again, I'm very sorry not to be able to give you better news."

He shakes your hand with a sad smile and greets Matt too. Matt, who has gone pale, whom you haven't looked in the eyes lest you'll break in a million pieces.

It feels like you've let him down somehow. After all he's done to help you adjust to becoming a mum, up to a point where you were even starting to look forward to it, you still end up with nothing.

And now what?

Will he retract his support? He said he would be there for whatever you chose to do, but this was not your choice. Or was it? And will he know the difference, even if you're not sure yourself? And how will this end?

Truth be told, you were very much looking forward to having Matt around, even if it was just for the baby's sake. You had pictures him falling in love with the little boy or girl, and perhaps…finally admitting he was in love with mummy too.

Not now though. His promise of the two of you having this baby as a real couple is now null and void. And without the baby, this real couple thing is no longer a necessity. And you wonder how long it will take before he lets go of the hand he's now still holding. He'll always be a friend for sure, you're not afraid he'll disappear altogether, but…

It's the thought that you can lose so much more than just a baby that now makes you cry. Matt, seeing your tears, awakes from his own shock. He stands, grabs a fresh towel from a stack in the corner and gently wipes the goo of your stomach. Your lifeless, hostile stomach. His gesture is intimate, almost like a lover and you revel in it for as long as you can, still convinced that this sweet attention for you will fade in time as there's no reason to take extra care of you any longer.

Tears stream freely down your face and exchanging the towel for some tissues, he wipes the tear stains from your cheeks.

All this time, he doesn't utter a word, but when he looks at you, his eyes shine with his own unshed tears and he swallows convulsively. Your own hand reaches out to brush his tears away and that gesture is enough for him to lean into you. A mere moment later, you're in his arms, crying harder than when you just told him, now a lifetime ago. Just like then, he says little, he only lets you weep and sniffle until you're exhausted. When he feels you slump further against his chest, he carefully unfolds your embrace, stands and picks up both your jackets from where you've left them as well as your purse. Making sure he has taken all your belongings, he helps you get off the table and into your jacket.

"Let's get out of here love. We can always call them for an appointment later, if you want. Right now, we could use some fresh air and some less depressing surroundings."

In the hallway, Rhona hands you some folders, indicating what you have to do when your miscarriage sets through.

"Call us anytime. We're so sorry," she tells you in a hushed voice, regarding the other women in there in various stages of pregnancy. You envy them, while only a few weeks before, you would have done anything not to be one of them.

And now you're not. You got your wish. Too late though.

Once outside, you breathe in the clean air, wishing it would bring some life into the still foetus in your belly. You wonder what it would have been like to feel its first kick, to know its gender, to make up names.

Matt tentatively wraps one arm around your shoulder and you don't ward him off. In silence, you reach his car and he gently helps you inside.

"Do you want to go home or do you need to go somewhere else first?"

"Home, please, I'm so tired."

"Okay then."

The car ride home is silent, with every now and then his hand covering yours. You're not alone. In your flat, he offers to make you some tea, but you decline. All you want to do is curl up in a ball and sleep for a decade.

You head into the bedroom, but before you close the door, one thought occurs to you. What if your miscarriage starts in the middle of the night and you're alone?

"Matt?"

"Yes, love?"

"Stay with me. I mean…"

"I know. And I will. You try and get some sleep. I'll be right here on the couch if you need me."

Relieved and eternally more grateful than you know how to show, you give him a watery smile and close the bedroom door, falling into bed exhausted.

The cramps start around midnight. It's like having your period, only much, much worse. Groaning, you try to get comfortable, but it's pointless. You need help. It hurts so much! Luckily, your hazy brain remembers your best friend should still be here.

"Matt! Matt! Help!"

Indeed, a moment later, he comes stumbling in, worried but alert and calm. Asserting the situation, he calls 999 for an ambulance, using his DS badge to bully them into hurrying over. While you wait for their arrival, he gets you some water, some towels and clean bed linens for later when the worst is over, in case you can stay home.

Another cramp hits you and you double over with the force of it. Matt wipes your sweaty forehead as he coaches and calms you.

In the end, you don't know how long it takes, but finally the paramedics are here. Since you're still in a lot of pain, it's decided you should go to the hospital and suddenly, you're in an ambulance, which races through the blessedly empty streets of London, while most of its occupants are still asleep.

Matt never leaves your side. Still holding onto your clammy hand, he manages to answer most questions about your condition coherently and none of the paramedics ever doubt he's a worried partner of a woman who is losing their child.

At the hospital though, he is kindly being asked to step aside as they examine you. You feel a small pinprick in your arm and a few moments later, the worst of your cramps subside as the painkillers do their work.

Later, you don't know how much later, a young female doctor tells you the worst should be over. You have now officially miscarried. She asks if you want to know the baby's gender and when you nod, she tells you it would have been a girl. Thinking of little Tessie, you start sobbing and calling out for Matt.

He's being shown in. He grabs your hand and kisses your damp forehead. You're too drowsy to wonder if he's merely putting up an act for the hospital staff. But you hope not.

"Will she be okay?"

"Physically, yes. We'll keep your wife here overnight, just in case, but if nothing out of the ordinary happens and she has no fever in the morning, you can take her home. We'll have a room for her ready soon."

He doesn't correct her in her assumption, merely nods his thanks. The doctor does some more checks, then tells you you'll be taken up to your room now. Gathering your things, Matt walks next to your bed as it is being taken through the hallways and into a lift, where you finally arrive at a rather stereotype, gloomy room. After they secure your bed and hook up your IV, the two of you are finally left alone. Finally, there is nowhere else to look but straight at him.

He looks like death. Worry and fatigue shine through his normally sparkling eyes. He's so subdued, you wonder if they put the right person in this damned hospital bed. Yet, he still manages a smile as he kisses the back of your hand.

"Alesha, I…"

You interrupt him quickly, unable to deal with his grief on top of yours. Plus, he really does look like he might keel over any moment.

"I know. But we'll get through this. I…I think you should go home."

"What?"

Irritation works better than pain at the moment.

"Please, Matt. You heard me. Go home. You're dead on your feet and there's nothing you can do for me now. These painkillers make me drowsy, so I think I'll probably be asleep soon. And then what's left for you to do? Please, sweet man, sweet friend. Go home. Get some sleep, take a shower, have some breakfast and come back to get me out of here."

Reluctantly, he gives in. He doesn't like it, but your reasoning makes sense. Plus, he needs to inform Nat, Ronnie, James and George as to why you won't come in for work today and not for another few more days after that.

"What do I tell them at work Alesha? Do I come up with some random disease or…"

It might be easier. But sooner or later, the truth always comes out. Besides, there's nothing to be ashamed of. You already dread their concern, but you'll man up to it. They're your friends and they care. You're happy about that.

"No…tell them."

He nods, bends over to give you one more quick kiss.

"Are you sure you'll be fine?"

"I'm at the hospital, Matt. People here are trained to make sure of that. But I can rest more assured when I know you're taking care of yourself. Now go, before I'll have you kicked out."

Shoulders slumped, he leaves the room and you finally allow yourself to drift off to sleep.

_Interlude: Matt's POV:_

The first thing you realize when you get outside is that you came here in the ambulance with Alesha. Your car is still at her flat. This late at night (or early in the morning, depending on your point of view) there are no tubes riding and you don't have either cash or bank card with you to pay for a cab. So walking it is. Thank God it's only a few blocks.

When you finally reach the sanctity of your car after a brisk fifteen minute walk, you notice how your hands tremble and not from the cold either. Way too much to start the engine and drive away safely. Unbidden, tears spring in your eyes as the events of the night and the days before finally take their toll.

It's gone. It's all over. And how crazy warped are your feelings about it. When Alesha told you about the pregnancy, all you knew is that you would be there, no matter what she decided to do. You could even more than understand her first urge to just get it out of her, regarding it as nothing more but a parasite she was left with after her rape.

Your own urge to drive to prison and throttle Merrick surged up again, but it quickly got subdued as you realized Alesha needed you there, not in jail for murder. You thought you had done your best comforting her, soothing her fears, if only a little.

You saw, even before she did, when she made her permanent decision. Outside that store. Right then and there, the moment before she stated she was going to have this child, you too had made up your mind.

Matt Devlin was going to be a father. Not in a way you ever thought it would happen, but still. That's just a technicality. This child had a right to have a doting daddy and you stepped up to the plate. No regrets or second thoughts allowed.

And sure, you had ulterior motives. You would have been a liar if you were to deny the blatantly obvious. In your mind's eye, a picture took shape. A standard, syrupy sweet family portrait. The way you always secretly wanted to have it, because you never had it in your childhood.

A mummy and daddy. House, white picket fence. And inside: a happy, healthy, slightly naughty, thriving child. Infant, toddler, pre-schooler. First word, first step, first tooth. First Christmas. First day at school. Learning how to ride a bike. The usual stuff nobody ever really appreciated enough, because it was so easy to take it for granted.

A sibling…

Your natural child. Not dearer to you than your firstborn, but still…

When you made Alesha that one sentence promise, it was with this picture in mind. You figured that, if only she would see how much you would love her child (no, your child, both your child), she would ultimately recognise it was born out of your love for her.

She would grow into loving you. For real. Fearlessly and completely.

Matt and Alesha and kids. The Devlin family. That's what it was all about.

But it had shattered to a million pieces. Your love for Alesha was still growing strong, your need to be there for her, with her, to help her get through this, is still there on full force. But the dream is over. Already she is retreating. Accepting your help with gratitude, but not seeing the depth of your feelings for her. Treating you as any other friend. As if it could have been any random guy offering his services.

It hurts beyond measure. You were so close, dammit! So close to finally getting it right, the irony of needing Merricks creation to get there not forgotten, but firmly placed on the backburner.

You take a few deep breaths and manage to start the engine. The streets are still pretty much deserted and within ten minutes, you find yourself at your own flat. It's a miracle you made it home in one piece as you can't remember anything of the ride over. Perhaps, in hindsight, you should have taken a cab instead. You're sure the driver would have waited for you to get some cash from your flat had you shown him your police badge. Oh well, too late now.

The only one seemingly happy to see you is Lucky, but then again, he probably just wants to be fed. You can't image the elderly feline feeling any of your gloom, let alone sympathize.

You find a can of cat food and fill his bowl. Just as you thought, you're immediately dismissed. Oh well, you can stand another rejection.

Underneath the hot, pelting stream of your shower, you realize that that is exactly how she made you feel when she send you home. Rejected. It's complete bullshit and you know it, but you're tired beyond belief and you can't help yourself. This shouldn't be about you, it should be about her, but how can you make this be just about her when she won't let you?

You bed is warm and welcoming, at least your lower back seems to think so after the abuse it had to endure while lying on her sofa. Yet, you shiver in misery, thinking of how you ended up here while you should be at the hospital.

Even if she doesn't need you there.

Will she ever admit to needing you again?

A million thoughts assault your mind and after an hour of useless twisting and turning, you give up. Much as you need it, sleep is apparently not on the agenda for tonight.

It's four am. You make yourself a strong cup of coffee, watch the news, which is still on repeat from the evening before and call the hospital just to make sure nothing bad (or at least nothing worse) has happened. The night nurse quickly assures you Alesha's sleeping soundly and not in any pain or discomfort. Oh well, you suppose that's good news.

You check your email. It's a lot of spam, as usual, and some jokes your pub mates send around whenever they have nothing better to do. Which is a lot of times, apparently. You browse through some of them without knowing what exactly you're reading. Answer a message from a friend who lives in New Zealand. Surf the net a while. Play a mindless shooting game and lose in round two. Your reflexes are non-existent.

Five fifteen. Another cup of coffee. A bowl of oatmeal, which looks like you didn't like it much the first time you ate it. You get dressed in just a pair of jeans and a shirt. Five thirty. You're in your car again, headed for the MIU building, where you're sure the night porter will let you in.

At this hour, the office is an eerie place. Too dark and gloomy. The light at your desk is still off and so is Ronnie's. There's no movement from within Natalie's office. The only one there is Angela and you're relieved to be talking to someone as kind and level headed as she is. She doesn't comment on your shabby attire and dark circles around your eyes and you don't elaborate. Sweet as she may be, Angela is not the first person you want to tell about Alesha. The two women hardly know each other after all.

With your third coffee of the morning, you settle at your desk and start leafing through some paperwork, though you honestly have no idea what you're looking at or which case file is in front of you. You're almost comically relieved when Natalie arrives at seven. Unlike Angela, she immediately notices your change in clothing style as well as the almost comatose state you're in.

"Matt, you want to tell me what's wrong with you in my office?"

The fact you don't even protest about her assumption something is indeed wrong with you makes it all the more glaringly obvious that there is.

In her office, with the door closed, you tell her all. Starting with Alesha's pregnancy and ending with the awful night you've just had. The one thing you don't tell is how this all makes you feel, but one look at your superior's face, which shows a motherly concern, tells you she knows anyway. Might even have known all along.

A few moments later, Ronnie joins you. Too tired to repeat the entire story, you allow Natalie to fill him in. Your partner merely puts a warm hand on your shoulder and squeezes gently, knowing any words will horribly fall short.

The quiet support warms you to the core and you're quick to take up Natalie's offer to inform James and George. You guess it doesn't really matter who tells them what. Had you been the father, it would have had to be you, but now…

You won't be a father. Not of this baby and you fear not of any baby. Because Alesha doesn't love you that way, is not in the right mind-set to deal with you loving her and might not want to have another go at a baby ever. Not with you or anyone else.

And neither do you, with anyone else.

God, what a nightmare. And how selfish are you if you think for one moment her nightmare is not a hundred times worse?

Right at that moment, your mobile buzzes. It's Alesha. She's awake, in not too much pain and doesn't have a fever or any other indication her miscarriage has left her with some kind of nasty infection. And could you please, please, please come pick her up?

Again, your DI doesn't need to be told. She grants you the rest of the day off and promises to tell both Alesha's superiors not to count on her for a while.

"Matt?"

You turn at Nat's voice.

"Take all the time you need. Take care of her and yourself, son. Call me tomorrow if you need more time off."

You thank her for her offer and her concern and after a quick goodbye to Ronnie, head out to take Alesha home.

Hoping that indeed, she lets you take care of her. And yourself.

_To be continued...reviews most welcome._


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